Good to Be a Little Bad
by Nandini Bharadwaj
Summary: What happens after 'Au Revoir? The story narrates the events of Neal's life from Paris, where he thinks he has safely (and selectively) left his old life behind. But the ghosts of his past, it seems, are finally catching up with him. For all White Collar fans who couldn't get enough even after 6 seasons.
1. Prologue

Elizabeth was dumping used plates in the kitchen sink when her phone rang. She smiled involuntarily as she glanced at the caller ID.

"Honey, Neal is doing fine…" she began, but she was interrupted by the voice on the other end.

"It's not baby Neal I'm worried about. El, I've got huge news." Peter had a hand over his forehead as he stepped out of the storage container. "Neal Caffrey is alive."

El was speechless for a few seconds. "Peter, I know you want this to be true, but you saw his body with your own eyes. He can't possibly be alive!"

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but Mozzie was right. Neal Caffrey's greatest con. I haven't quite worked out all the details yet, but I have all the clues I need. I know he's alive," he stated with conviction.

"Well, I don't know how to react. You're the smartest man I know and I believe you. Promise to tell me everything when you get back?"

"Always." She could hear the smile in his tone.

"How are you feeling, hon? This is a lot to take in." She sounded a little more high-pitched than usual.

"I'll be fine. I have to get back to work now. With this new case, I won't have time to dwell on it till I'm home." He waved a hand in dismissal to no one in particular.

"I know. Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you know where Neal is right now?" She seemed hopeful and apprehensive at the same time.

"I'm not sure if I'm right, but I think he's in Paris." Peter could feel a weight lift off of him as he shared with his wife.

"Wow! That's a real co-incidence!" She moved away from the kitchen as she spoke.

"What is?"

El stood in front of the muted TV as she relayed the news. "There's been a break-in at the Louvre."


	2. Acknowledgements

Before I jump into the story, I'd like to thank the following people:

The brilliant creator, the wonderful actors and to everybody else associated with White Collar. I'm sure it will remain my perennial favourite.

My friend, who was so heartbroken when he finished the show that he prompted me to put down my idea of a fanfic in ink.

My other friend who's seen me scribbling stories during class and edited them for me.

My third friend who almost spoilt the last episode for me.

My dearest muse, who keeps me motivated and focused. You're like the Sun - there would be no light in my life without you.

Lastly, this story is dedicated to all the die-hard fans of this TV show. To those on FanFiction, thank you so much for all the reviews, favourites, follows and views!


	3. One

When Peter finally came home that day, Elizabeth had fallen asleep in front of the TV. The knock on the door startled her awake. She opened the door to find her husband's frowning face before her. She greeted him with a swift kiss.

"Someone looks like they've had a bad day," she commented.

"I was thinking about what you said earlier about the coincidence," Peter replied.

"Slow down, honey. You can do all that after dinner," said El with a smile.

"I'm sorry, El. I already finished mine at the office. Jones ordered Chinese again." Peter pulled his best apologetic face.

"You didn't call. You never do that. What's going on, Peter?" Elizabeth asked.

Peter settled into the sofa and gave a long sigh. He then launched into a detailed explanation starting from his suspicions last night to the contents of Neal's storage box.

"Right after I called you, I swung by Mozzie's favourite street corner, but I couldn't find him," Peter finished.

"Maybe he's moved to a different place. You did scare the crowd by flashing your badge yesterday," El reasoned.

"Maybe," Peter agreed.

They exchanged looks. Neither said a word, but each knew what the other was thinking.

"I'll get the files," declared Peter, getting up.

Elizabeth caught his hand. "Are you sure you want to pursue this? Neal clearly lead us to believe he's dead for over a year. I don't think digging up the past is going to help anything. I just don't want you to spend sleepless nights over something futile. It's not like you can involve the Bureau in this, right?"

"True. But I have to know, El. This is Neal we're talking about. I don't think I can get any sleep unless I know the truth."

She nodded in understanding. "Then I'll help you track down Mozzie."


	4. Two

A crisp July summer morning welcomed Mozzie as he stepped out of the Charles de Gaulle airport, but he was in no mood to enjoy the varied amusements of the French capital like an ordinary tourist. He scanned the crowd impatiently for a decent cab.

"You look like you need a ride," called out a familiar voice behind him. "I'm surprised there wasn't a disturbance in the Force to warn you about my presence."

"Neal," Mozzie declared formally.

"It's been a year and that's all I get?" A smiling Neal Caffrey slid into view, his blue eyes hidden behind a pair of Aviators. He was dressed casually and sporting a healthy tan. It felt really good to see him after a year, but Mozzie only gave him a cold stare in response.

"Not here. Not now," was all he said. He hailed a taxi and both of them journeyed together in uncomfortable silence towards the heart of the city.

The cabbie dropped them off at the Rue de Rivoli per Neal's request.

"I'm sure you didn't touch the breakfast in the flight. Want to get something to eat?" he enquired lightly.

Mozzie turned away from him as he replied, "Maybe."

"C'mon, Moz. You know you can't stay mad at me forever," began Neal as they sat across each other at a table in the first cafe they spotted. Mozzie pretended to be captivated by the small menu card and shielded his face with it.

"How did you know I was coming?" he asked, looking up at Neal, as the waitress walked away after taking their order.

"You taught me well." Neal winked.

"That I did," Mozzie smiled in agreement.

"Still the humble Moz, I see."

"Shh! If anyone asks, I'm Mr. Bob Henson, in Paris on a business trip."

"I was going to ask you about that. Henson? Really?" A look of light amusement passed Neal's face.

"I didn't get to pick the name, if you recall, Mr. Moreau. I think I'm more of a Riedlmayer myself," Mozzie shot back, frowning.

"Point taken, Bob." Neal's characteristic smirk was back.

"I hope you know this doesn't mean you're forgiven." The grave tone of Mozzie's was a reflection of the hurt and betrayal he had carried around for months.

"Of course not," Neal said in the most serious voice he could muster.

"You still owe me a big explanation, and a bigger apology," Mozzie demanded. An unspoken agreement passed between the two. This place was too public to discuss their issues.

"Would you like me to send you some flowers, Mr. Henson?"

"Very funny, Victor." A genuine smile crept across Mozzie's face. He had missed the casual banter with his partner. But even in the City of Lights, he still felt like there was a void in his chest, something that even Neal's presence after their long separation couldn't fill. Mozzie was beginning to miss his home, New York.


	5. Three

After Mozzie had slept off his jet lag in Neal's apartment, the two of them opened a bottle of wine and made themselves comfortable on wooden chairs by the dining table.

"To the undead Neal Caffrey," said Mozzie before he took a sip.

Neal just glared at him. "What brings you to Paris?"

Mozzie gulped down all the wine and set down the glass on the table before he declared, "Someone else knows you're alive."

Neal almost choked on his drink. He recovered quickly and confusion drew across his face. "How do you know this?"

"I received these a week ago. It was left on my doorstep. I took off right away, of course. I've been going to different cities to throw whoever this is off my trail. I burned through all of my temporary aliases on those trips," Moz elaborated. He fetched a manila envelop from his belongings and handed it to Neal. The latter browsed through its contents and turned pale. With his face towards the open windows that provided a superb view of the city, he sat as if stricken dumb, a million thoughts raging in his head. Several photos lay haphazardly on the table - photos of Neal in Paris with date stamps on them. There was also a piece of paper with the words "$ 23 million?" printed on it.

"They're real, aren't they?" asked Moz, although he knew the answer in his heart.

Neal simply nodded. He hadn't yet recovered his ability to talk.

"I met Mr. Suit on that very day, in the evening. Even he had questions about the money that went unaccounted for. He suspects something, of course, but he doesn't know about you. I played my part of the grieving friend to perfection, if I may say so myself." He went on to narrate the events of that day. "When I returned, I found this waiting for me. For the record, I'd like to state that this was my worst surprise ever."

"This isn't a surprise, Moz. It's blackmail." Neal finally found his voice.

"I know that. I'm not thick-headed. But what's the worst that could happen, really?"

"Peter finds out. Or any of the Panthers. This is a strange coincidence. Keller had warned warned me on the day of the heist, after you left with our money. 'In the deepest, darkest prisons, Neal, word travels fast.' There are a lot of angry people in jail because of me and Peter. Isn't that bad enough?"

Mozzie's pat reply never came. Instead, he looked at Neal with grave, anxious eyes.

"There's nothing left for us to do but wait for the blackmailer to make contact, I suppose," reasoned Mozzie. "You should have been more careful."

"I thought I'd left all that behind. If I could have convinced even you, the conspiracy theorist, I didn't think anyone else would be capable of doubting the circumstances of my death."

"In my defence, I was overcome with emotions. I still have a bone to pick with you on that issue. Imagine my rage when I find out it was a con and I wasn't in on it."

"It felt like the right think to do at the time. I'm really sorry for that, Moz. But maybe we should deal with the issue at hand first?"

Mozzie was quiet for a while, indecisive. Eventually, he recognised the sense in his partner's words. "Apology accepted. Well, can you think of anybody who could be behind something like this?"

"Alex, maybe. But last I heard she was somewhere in Asia, trying to con a prince out of his inheritance. But she wouldn't do this to me, would she?" mused Neal.

"She's a woman. She will always remain an enigma to me. I don't know her as well as you. However, even I think she's not capable of something of this nature. No others?"

"I can't think of anyone else." Neal covered his distraught face with his hands. "This wasn't supposed to happen. The plan was iron-clad. We could have lived for the rest of our lives with the money we made from our last big score. We were supposed to settle down somewhere and have a normal life at last. All I wanted was to be free. No more running away. Now I'm back to being a fugitive again."

"The past always catches up to you, Neal. No matter how far you run or how cleverly you cover your tracks. You should take comfort in the fact that the worst hasn't happened yet. We have to figure out who's behind this and what they want. I'll see if I can glean any information from the photos." Mozzie put a reassuring hand on Neal's shoulder. "I have a feeling that whoever this is will show themselves pretty soon."


	6. Four

"Honey, you'll be late for work if you don't finish your breakfast in ten minutes," warned Elizabeth.

"Sorry, El. I hate the fact that I have to give up. There's really nothing I can find in here." He looked at her with the dejected face of a ten-year-old who'd just been told he couldn't have candy, setting down a box of files on the table as he took his seat.

El put down a bowl of cereal and a glass of milk before him and turned her attention back to the pot on the stove. "It's been a week and there are no leads. Without the Bureau's resources, it's like trying to look for a needle in a haystack. Now even Mozzie's in the wind. Whatever they're planning, I don't think you can be there to stop it or get Neal out of it this time, Peter," she pointed out.

"You're right, hon. I can't even tell if they're up to something or if this is all just one wild conspiracy theory. I don't think the answer lies in these files. I would've had a chat with Mozzie if I could, but since I can't do that…"

"Alex?" interrupted El.

"The FBI has no idea of her whereabouts. But that's not the name I had in mind. I was thinking I should talk to Sara again."

"Are you also thinking of taking the day off?" she asked, giving him a quick smile as she joined him.

"Well, Neal Jr.'s been crying a lot since last night. I think I should stay and make sure he's okay." Peter did his best to look concerned.

"Agent Burke! Using your baby as an excuse to not show up for work - that's something I never imagined I'd say. No interesting cases at the moment?"

"Nothing Jones can't handle. I should give him a call." Peter left the table with his phone in his hand.

Elizabeth quickly ate her breakfast and fetched her laptop. She'd always kept in touch with Sara, even after she relocated to London. She logged in, but Sara was not online at the time. She left a message asking her to get in touch and moved off to check on her little boy.

When Peter came back to the kitchen, there was an incoming call from Sara. He hit 'Accept' as El was nowhere to be seen.

"Hi, E… Peter," she greeted awkwardly as he came into view on her screen.

"It's good to see you after a long time, Sara. You look terrific!" Peter complimented.

"Thanks." Her eyes moved away from the screen for a moment. "Aren't you getting late for work?"

"I've taken the day off. Trying to spend a little more time with my son and all that," he explained.

"That's sweet. How's darling Neal doing? And the mother?" enquired Sara.

"He's quite the troublemaker, actually. As for El, here she comes. You can ask her yourself."

"Oh, hey, Sara!" gushed Elizabeth as she waved at the screen. "Is it lunch time there?"

"Yes, it is. I didn't feel like going out with the rest of them, so here I am. How have you been? Is Neal awake?"

"I'm doing fine. He's still asleep. No, wait. That's him," she corrected herself as the demanding screams of a toddler could be heard from the other room. "I'll take care of that. Honey, didn't you say you had to ask Sara something? You can finished that up while I feed the baby." El rushed away, grabbing food and a spoon from the kitchen and disappearing from view.

Peter gave Sara an awkward smile. "I hope this isn't too much trouble."

"You know I'm always happy to help, Agent Burke. What do you want to know?"

He took a deep breath before he began, "I've been putting this off for far too long, but I can't avoid it anymore. I have to close Neal's case. I just wanted to get all the information I possibly could. I would've asked Mozzie, but he's skipped town, I suspect. Not that he'd tell me anything even if he was here. I know you probably don't want to think about that and never open that chapter of your life again, but it would be…"

"That's okay, Peter. I don't mind. But I don't think I can be of much help to you. Neal had a lot of secrets and I don't think he shared that many with me." Sara gave a wry smile.

"Any little detail is fine. Did he and Mozzie run any schemes behind the Bureau's back? Did he have any new aliases? Did he keep any more treasures hidden away? Anything you can think of," coaxed Peter.

"This was all a long time ago and I can't think of anything off the top of my head. But if I do, I'll certainly let you know. I'm sorry I'm not able to contribute more." She sounded sincerely apologetic.

"That's fine. Please take all the time you need. I'll call El now and let you two catch up. It was nice talking to you, Sara." He gave her one of his rare, genuine smiles.

"Same here, Peter."

He walked into the baby's room and took over the task of feeding their son from Elizabeth. As he tricked the reluctant boy into eating his food by distracting him with a story, he wished Sara would have some information for him. The only other way to get to the bottom of this was to conduct an investigation off the book, which would get him into serious trouble if anyone else found out. He was unwilling to resort to that.

When Peter went to the kitchen to dump the empty bowl in the sink, he found his wife with a notepad in her hand, her eyes shining with excitement.

"Sara remembered something just as I was about to say goodbye. An old alias of Neal's. When she asked him about it, he'd told her that you knew about this one, so she wasn't sure if this would be of any help," said Elizabeth as she handed the notepad to Peter.

He looked at the two words scribbled on it. Victor Moreau. The he looked back at El, mirroring her enthusiasm.

"The name is definitely new to me. It's worth looking into. Thank Sara for me. I'll see what I can dig up." He hugged Elizabeth before he hurried upstairs, hoping this was the break that would crack the case.


	7. Five

"I'll be heading out now. You remember what I said earlier, don't you?" asked Mozzie, one step outside the door.

"I'm not a child, Moz. I promise I won't venture outside. Or let strangers in. I can take care of myself." Neal rolled his eyes.

"That's what I used to think, but I've been having doubts lately. Au revoir!" he called as he shut the door behind him. He felt a tinge of unease as he climbed down a flight of stairs on his way out of the building. He didn't want to leave Neal on his own even for a second, but he had to, against his better judgement, because they were running out of supplies. When he weighed the imminent danger against the threat of starvation, his survival instinct won.

As he turned into a busy Parisian street looking out for the nearest grocery store, he looked back to see if he was being shadowed. The thoroughfare was crowded, and for all he could tell, anyone walking behind him could be tailing him. His hand slipped unconsciously into the pocket where he kept a pepper spray ever since he was attacked by Jack Conroy. Mozzie couldn't stand the thought of guns, but he had to able to make a quick getaway from uncomfortable situations. He had initially planned to disappear in a puff of smoke, but the idea never worked out. He turned a corner and found what he was looking for. He was about to go in, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He nearly jumped out of his skin and he tightened his grip on the can of spray as he turned around to face the person.

She was dressed in a pastel pink evening dress, with a pearl necklace and bracelet to go with it. Her shoulder length hair was a light golden brown, which brought out the colour in her hazel eyes. She slightly towered over Mozzie in her pencil heels. Charming as she was, she was the last person he wanted to see. Her presence would throw him in a quandary which he couldn't handle with so much going on already.

"Half-suit," he said stiffly in his own manner of salutation. "You shouldn't be here."

"It's great to see you too, Mozzie," smiled Sara.

"What are you doing in this city? A little far from London, isn't it?" His tone was interrogative.

"I'm here for the weekend. A surprise from a special someone," she explained, blushing slightly.

"Then you're lucky he's invisible," Mozzie remarked.

"He's at the hotel. I decided I needed some fresh air. Now I'm thinking it's a good thing that I did. What are you doing here, Moz? It's really far from New York, isn't it?" she shot back.

"Three thousand six hundred and twenty five miles, to be exact, and my business is my own. Also, it would benefit me greatly if you called me Mr. Henson." He pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose as he spoke.

"Running a con, I see," Sara surmised.

"I will neither confirm nor deny that. But it seems that I may have some time on my hands. How would you like to go grocery shopping?" He extended an arm towards her.

"Perfect," she replied, accepting it.

Mozzie was obviously curious about Sara's special someone and pressed her for details the first chance he got.

"His name is Keith Bradshaw. We met through mutual friends. I think we got together around six months ago. He teaches at the London School of Economics." Moz snorted his disapproval at this point, interrupting her. She narrowed her eyes at him, so he begged her to continue. "He's very charming and so very sweet! He comes from a rich family. His parents are wonderful people and I have to say, nothing like what I expected them to be."

"Hold on," he cut her off again. "You've already met his parents?! Sara, it's only been six months."

"I know. It's all happening so fast! I suspect he's going to propose soon, and most probably on this trip. We're going to see the Eiffel Tower in the evening. I'm pretty sure he is going to ask me then."

"Have you thought about what you're going to say? I really didn't want to bring this up, but you're still wearing that ring Neal gave you, albeit not on the ring finger. It seems too soon for me. Are you sure he is the one?" Mozzie couldn't stop thinking about his partner and how this news would affect him. He wondered if he had given up on Sara when he decided to fake his death. He was in the worst possible situation - he couldn't tell Sara about Neal, nor could he bring himself to tell Neal about her.

Sara hesitated. "I honestly don't know. But I've been engaged to a dead man for too long, Moz. Is it so terrible to want to move on with my life?"

Mozzie shrugged. "It's your choice. Let's talk about pleasanter things, shall we?" They joined the line at the billing counter.

"Alright. I spoke to El and Peter two days ago. They seemed to think you'd skipped town."

Mozzie looked alarmed. "I know El is a friend, but is there a possibility that you won't mention this to her when you talk to her next?"

"I'll think about it." Sara grinned mischievously.

"The suit spoke to you?" Mozzie probed. "Why?"

"He said he needed information on Neal, anything the FBI might have missed."

"This is bad." There was panic in his voice. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing. I just mentioned an old alias that I thought Neal was hiding from them. But he had told me that Peter wouldn't be surprised to learn about it, so I don't think I gave away anything important." Sara was a little hurt that Mozzie believed that she'd betray their secrets.

He wiped a bead of perspiration from his forehead. "Which one?" It was a whisper.

"Victor." She was about to say more, but the words died in her throat as she looked at Mozzie.

"He found Neal." The words slipped out of his mouth as if he were in a daze. He abandoned the shopping cart and began to walk away.

When she tried calling after him, he broke into a jog. He was out of the store before she could react. He almost ran all the way back to Neal's apartment. When he reached the door, breathless, his eyes immediately spotted the sticky note on it, a stark contrast to the dark wood.

'Out for lunch. -VM' it read. Mozzie couldn't take it anymore. He collapsed on the steps, his head in his hands. His mind whirled with all that he had gathered from his conversation with Sara. He was too distraught to go looking for Neal. If his world were made of glass, it had just shattered into a million pieces.


	8. Six

Sara closed and locked the door of the suite, grateful for the fact that she was alone. She had just gotten off the phone with Peter Burke. She flopped down on the king-sized bed, reeling under the weight of the news that she had just received. Keith had gone looking for her after her walk had stretched into hours and she knew she should inform him of her safe return, but her hands seemed lifeless. She also had no strength left in her to pretend that the holiday was the enjoyable one her boyfriend had hoped for. Her mobile slipped from her hand and landed on the mattress with a muffled thud.

Hurt. Shock. Betrayal. The three emotions coalesced in her mind till she could feel herself bursting under its pressure. The part she couldn't digest the most was that Neal was in Paris right now. If he had settled somewhere in the Caribbean, she wouldn't have to worry about how she would feel if she met him. Her longing to see the one man she had passionately loved was heightened by his proximity to her. She suddenly became aware that she would be flying out of Paris by this time the next day. A sense of urgency overwhelmed her, but she lay still, her mind rebelling against the idea.

She had moved past that phase in her life, she told herself firmly. Her future was with Keith, argued the rational part of her. Her impulse to throw it all away and plunge into the streets looking for one man in the huge metropolis was definitely a bad idea. All she had was a name and a description. But the thrill of seeking out the truth had taken hold of her and it was proving very hard to shake off because it fought against all her instincts as an investigator. After all, she had once tracked a Rothko to the Hamptons with nothing but a jitney receipt. Compared to that case, this was hardly a challenge. She stopped short when her gaze turned to the ring that she deliberately wore on the middle finger of her left hand. She realised she had always clung to it in the hope of seeing him one day, the only fantasy she allowed herself in her otherwise practical way of life. Her thoughts never turned to Keith amid all this. Somewhere deep down in her heart, she always knew where she belonged. She smiled ruefully as she picked up her bag and phone, excitement rising within her. Neal had given her two huge surprises already. It was time she returned the favour. She shut the door behind her quietly, planning her next move.


	9. Seven

It was only a quarter of an hour after Mozzie had left that Neal heard a knock on the door. He smiled faintly as he could recognise the Iambic pentameter in its rhythm. He unlatched it without a second's hesitation. He raised his arms abruptly to his side as the cold steel of a gun pressed against his forehead. The man holding it was dressed like a bodyguard - black suit over a white shirt, grey tie and black shades to hide his eyes. A wire was visible near his right ear.

"My partner will be worried if I disappear suddenly." Neal had learnt long ago the tact with which he should handle these kind of situations.

"Leave a note," replied the man dismissively, tightening his grip on the firearm while Neal did as he was told. He was grabbed roughly by the arm as he locked the door and stuck the note on it. He cursed himself for not having the forethought of entrusting Mozzie with the spare key.

As they reached the rear entrance to his apartment, the gun was hastily stowed but his captor did not let go of his hand. The force with which he was being held was beginning to get painful. Mercifully, a black sedan was parked right in front and he was shoved into the backseat. Not a soul was around to witness the scene, Neal noted. He relaxed into the plush leather seat of the Mercedes S-class. Wherever he was being taken to, at least he would be going in style.

He brooded over the fact that he could see exactly where he was being taken, which was a bad sign because that meant there was a possibility that he may not be coming back alive. His phone was on the dining table in his apartment. He was desperately trying to think of a way to leave a trail for Mozzie to follow when he felt the car slow as it coasted into Avenue Gabriel. The journey had lasted only about 20 minutes, Neal estimated, when they halted in front of Restaurant Laurent. Another man dressed the same as the one in the driver's seat opened the door for him.

"Walk," he whispered in his ear, making the threat clear in his voice. The curiosity that consumed Neal made him obey without hesitation. It seemed that he really was going to have lunch, at a Michelin-starred restaurant, no less. If this was going to be his last meal, he was disappointed that he was not dressed for the occasion.

He was led up to the garden terrace, which was a secluded setting tucked away behind hedges, next to a charming fountain. The scent of the blooming summer flowers accosted his senses and, for a moment, he forgot his predicament and thought about what a good choice he had made to settle down in Paris, which had no lack of beautiful places.

A fair skinned, impeccably dressed man eyed him from across one of the tables. He sat far away from the rest of the occupied tables and looked like he was halfway through an enjoyable meal. There was no doubt in Neal's mind that he had been brought here to meet this guy. The man ushering him walked away as he approached the table, leaving the two of them alone. Neal knew him well enough, and so did a lot of people in France. As he took the chair opposite this much loved public figure and contract thief, the pieces of the puzzle came together in his head, but he certainly had not seen this coming.


	10. Eight

p style="-qt-block-indent: 0; text-indent: 36px; margin: 0px;"span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;""Gordon Taylor," acknowledged Neal. "We do meet at last in Paris, but I must say, not the way I'd imagined it."/span/p  
p style="-qt-block-indent: 0; text-indent: 36px; margin: 0px;"span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;"Taylor took his time to chew and swallow. "I would have apologised, but you did try to send me to jail the last time we saw each other. Be sure to thank Mozzie for me."/span/p  
p style="-qt-block-indent: 0; text-indent: 36px; margin: 0px;"span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;"Neal inclined his head. "This isn't the way you bring people in usually. What changed?"/span/p  
p style="-qt-block-indent: 0; text-indent: 36px; margin: 0px;"span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;""Alan Woodford asked me to check on the suspicious circumstances of your death as a favour. Good job on that, by the way. Very impressive. Almost had me fooled."/span/p  
p style="-qt-block-indent: 0; text-indent: 36px; margin: 0px;"span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;"He accepted the compliment. "So the photos were a preview of what's coming?"/span/p  
p style="-qt-block-indent: 0; text-indent: 36px; margin: 0px;"span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;""I wouldn't have sent them if I was going to give you up. That was the original intention, until I got a better offer. Now that serves as incentive for you to join me. Blackmail isn't ideal, of course, but I heard that you were out of the game and couldn't think of a better way to get you interested again. No honour among thieves, right?" Taylor allowed himself a smile./span/p  
p style="-qt-block-indent: 0; text-indent: 36px; margin: 0px;"span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;""I heard the Panthers are serving life. What would Woodford do with information about me?" Neal tried to sound nonchalant, hiding his terror within./span/p  
p style="-qt-block-indent: 0; text-indent: 36px; margin: 0px;"span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;""Come now, Neal. He's influential even behind bars. Nobody has dared to cross him before. If he knows you're alive, he will come after you with everything he has left. How far do you think you can go before his men find you?"/span/p  
p style="-qt-block-indent: 0; text-indent: 36px; margin: 0px;"span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;""What will you tell him when he asks you about me?" he enquired./span/p  
p style="-qt-block-indent: 0; text-indent: 36px; margin: 0px;"span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;""I'd asked for eighteen months to produce proof of life, failing which he will assume you're dead. I'll just keep my silence and you can stop looking over your shoulder for danger from the Panthers," assured Taylor./span/p  
p style="-qt-block-indent: 0; text-indent: 36px; margin: 0px;"span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;""And what do I have to do in return?" He internally dreaded the answer./span/p  
p style="-qt-block-indent: 0; text-indent: 36px; margin: 0px;"span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;""Nothing you haven't done before. I didn't have the heart to sell you to Alan when I could use your skills on this one. It's got a handsome pay-off too; something to add to the twenty-three million dollar fortune that you're already sitting on. I'd be a fool to disclose details before knowing where your allegiance lies. I'll give you a day's time to mull over your options. If you're in, you'll be picked up on Monday and we can get started." He wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and stood up./span/p  
p style="-qt-block-indent: 0; text-indent: 36px; margin: 0px;"span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;""Like I was picked up today?" Neal got up too, his eyebrows raised questioningly./span/p  
p style="-qt-block-indent: 0; text-indent: 36px; margin: 0px;"span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;""I will apologise for that. They have yet to learn ways of persuasion that doesn't involve guns. I myself have no taste for them, as you know. But after an attempt on my life a few months back, the board members of my company expressed concern over my safety and I've had to put up with this ever since," Taylor elaborated./span/p  
p style="-qt-block-indent: 0; text-indent: 36px; margin: 0px;"span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;""I always thought it was a dummy corporation."/span/p  
p style="-qt-block-indent: 0; text-indent: 36px; margin: 0px;"span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;""Of course not," he exclaimed indignantly in his thick British accent. "It's a perfectly legal business which launders most of my money." /span/p  
p style="-qt-block-indent: 0; text-indent: 36px; margin: 0px;"span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;""Clever," remarked Neal./span/p  
p style="-qt-block-indent: 0; text-indent: 36px; margin: 0px;"span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;""Thank you." Taylor paused and sighed. "I really hope I get to work with you again." He extended his right hand, but Neal didn't take it. He lowered it with a chuckle and leaned in closer to whisper, "Choose wisely, Caffrey."/span/p 


	11. Nine

_**A/N: For those of you who don't remember Gordon Taylor, he features in S03E15 - Stealing Home. Neal and Mozzie join his crew to help the FBI nab him. Mozzie is too awed by Taylor to see him behind bars and tips him off, so he escapes while the rest of the members of that team are caught by the Feds.**_

When Sara returned to her hotel room, it was late evening. She knew she wouldn't be alone this time, although a tiny part of her hoped that Keith would have stormed out angrily so she wouldn't have to deal with him at the moment.

"Sara," Keith breathed, relieved, as soon as he saw her walk in. He crossed the distance between them in a matter of seconds and ensconced her in a warm hug.

She broke away quickly and apologised for her disappearance. "I found a lead, and you know how I get when it's anything work-related."

He nodded in understanding, but his eyes still held concern and a hint of anger. She looked away from them and dove into her luggage, looking for a file she wanted.

"Anything I can do to help?" he offered.

She looked up from among a sheaf of papers. "I'm very sorry, but I think I'll have to stay in Paris for a few more days. Could you cancel the flight ticket for me?"

"You mean tickets," Keith corrected, taking up his phone.

"No, just mine. Don't you have a class to teach on Monday?"

"I can ask Dr. Lowell to cover for me."

Sara shifted uncomfortably. She didn't know how to tell him that his presence would only hinder her without hurting him. She thought for a moment that if she was going to break his heart in the near future, she might as well start now, but she still cared for him enough to choose her words cautiously.

"Keith, it's best for us if you go without me. My work will take up all of my time - long hours and constant legwork are part of my job. The guilt of not being able to be with you will be killing me. You'll be missed at your college too." She took his hands in hers. "The sooner I get to the bottom of this, the sooner I can come back to you. It's only for a little while, anyway."

He pulled away. "Of course," he said as he strode away from her, engrossed in his phone once more.

Her mind turned to her case again. She had been trying to locate Mozzie when she had a glimpse of the real reason why she had agreed to come to Paris - to track down the one responsible for the Louvre break-in. A painting had gone missing, which was insured by her company, but the staff had later discovered it in another part of the museum and closed the investigation. But something about it had still bothered Sara, and the fact that the primary suspect was still in town made her even more edgy. She guessed that the actual target was something else entirely and this was most probably a dry run. Forgetting all about the incidents of that afternoon, she dialled her boss's number to get authorisation to follow her lead, cursing herself for packing an extra dress instead of her surveillance gear.


	12. Ten

The unpredictable Paris weather had taken a turn for the worse since last night. Rain pounded at the windows steadily, effectively shutting out the afternoon sun. Neal paced by the window, the storm outside reflecting how he felt within. Mozzie was scrunched up comfortably on the sofa, with a warm blanket wrapped around him and a bowl of steaming soup in his hands, following his friend with watchful eyes.

"You know, there's nothing you can do about it. You have to accept," prompted Mozzie.

Neal sat down next to him with a sigh. "I know. It's just that this is nothing like I wanted it to be. That was supposed to be our last big score and then we'd move somewhere far away. No more looking over our shoulder to see if we were going to get caught; some place where nobody would know our real identities. We'd finally be settling down and spending the rest of our lives there. We had this all planned out perfectly, Moz. It's so hard to give that idea up after having sacrificed almost everything to make that come true."

"It's interesting to note that you're using 'we' when your original plan included only 'I'." Mozzie stopped when Neal gave him an exasperated look and he took the hint. "May not be the best time to bring that up again. But this is who we are. We're not like normal people. We're not looking to give something back to the world or leave something behind the way our marks want to, which is what makes them gullible in the first place. We're artists, we're good at what we do, we just take and give nothing back. We live in the moment. We have learnt not to get attached because once we're done with our con, we can't afford to stick around. I know that your stint with the Suits had brought some measure of stability to your life, but you always knew deep down inside that that's not what you wanted. You longed to be free and that's why you ran. For people like you and I, the notion of having all the money in the world and riding into the sunset is just an illusion. You know that, don't you? The world can't catch up with you…"

"…if you never stop running," Neal finished. "But it's not so easy now, is it? You just told me Peter knows that I'm alive. I'm sure he's waiting around for something like this - for me to slip up and go back to my old ways. It's too risky!"

"Oh, my friend, then you're lucky that it's Gordon Taylor you'll be working with. He really takes the whole, 'Nobody gets caught, everybody gets paid,' thing seriously. Just look at his record, for instance," reasoned Mozzie.

"He doesn't have one," said Neal, confusion clearly written all over his features.

"Exactly," Mozzie enunciated with a pointed forefinger. "Anyway, it just looks like this opportunity has only pros and no downsides as far as I'm concerned. You can get your enemies off your back and make some good money out of it too. The other option is next to impossible - there's no possibility of obtaining a passport and getting out of here without Taylor hearing about it. I really think you should go for it. Besides, I've not been involved in anything so exciting in a very long time. ' _The supreme accomplishment is to blur the line between work and play._ '"

Neal seemed to be in deep thought as he got up and began his pacing again, but Mozzie noticed that he was palming the cell phone that Taylor had planted on him when he had leaned in close before they parted. He felt a smile creep across his face, confident of Neal's response to Taylor's offer. He made himself more comfortable on the sofa to enjoy his soup which was now at the perfect temperature to savour.


	13. Eleven

Clinton Jones was convinced that Special Agent Peter Burke was being uncharacteristically tense ever since he took that day off citing personal reasons. He had tried several times to bring it up during a casual conversation, but his boss would always seem dodgy and unwilling to answer his queries. He would catch him often staring at the desk that was previously manned by Caffrey. His death had come as a shock to Jones too, but he had gotten over it after a few months. On a particularly difficult case, he certainly still missed Caffrey's out-of-the-box thinking and spontaneity. He dispelled those thoughts by telling himself that this would be the exact situation if they had relieved him of his anklet as well. He had imagined that Peter would come to terms with it over time too, but it seemed to be having the opposite effect on him. He had looked sad whenever Jones guessed that he was thinking of Caffrey, whereas it now appeared to have shifted to anger.

He checked his watch, which told him it was 5:55 pm. He went over with a file in his hand and knocked on Agent Burke's door. His superior welcomed him with a grim smile. His desk, which would normally be meticulously arranged, had a clear bowl with paper chits in and strewn about it. Jones smiled too as he recollected the FBI tradition that it signified. Every year, the FBI would be invited to conferences organised by the Interpol. Although they would get to travel to exotic locations in Europe, it was nothing like a holiday, the Americans had realised. They were so apprehensive of these events that a system had developed to determine which not-so-lucky person would get to represent the Feds there. Initially, this was dumped on the rookies, but they quickly switched to the fair method of drawing chits after one of the novices had tried to sue them for making her go through the ordeal. Jones had so far never attended any and he thanked his stars for it. Nobody from the Bureau would appreciate having to sit through boring lectures, surrounded by Europe's cockiest agents.

"Where is it this time?" enquired Jones.

"Nice," replied Peter, his eyes on a case file.

"Nice," commented Jones. Peter chuckled in response.

"So, when will the doom of some poor agent be decided?"

Peter placed the file on a stack at one of the corners and began thrusting the remaining chits into the bowl. "I'm done for the day. Tell them to assemble downstairs. I'll be right behind you."

As Special Agent in-charge, Peter would be deciding the fateful winner. Jones knew that he was a just man and no one complained about his choices, mostly because there was no room to cheat with a room full of Quantico's best paying very close attention.

When Jones saw him descend the small set of stairs from his office and address the gathering, he wasn't concentrating on Peter's words because he had the same tension that Jones was worried about. Just as Peter put his hand inside the bowl, he knew something was amiss by the look on his face. The movement seemed perfectly natural, but Jones could make out the sleight of hand that Caffrey had taught him in one of their numerous 'babysitting' sessions. He was stupefied when his supervisor unfurled the chit and read out the name - Peter Burke.


	14. Twelve

Mozzie and Neal were promptly picked up at ten on a sunny Monday morning. The sky seemed as if it had already forgotten yesterday's downpour. Mozzie smiled at the temperamental weather of the city as the luxury car wound its way through the traffic. It came to a standstill at the elegant Le Meurice on Rue de Rivoli. A private entrance led to the Presidential Apartment that Taylor was staying at. The sitting room exuded an air of opulence, with its towering ceilings and rich Louis XVI furniture. Gordon was facing away from them as they entered, admiring the spectacular view of the Tuileries Gardens from the windows. Mozzie looked disdainfully at the bodyguard accompanying them till he disappeared the way they had come.

Taylor greeted them both with his characteristic bear hug cum pat-down. Mozzie felt like a child in Disneyland - surrounded by grandeur befitting the Versailles and in the presence of a man that he idolised.

"The others shouldn't be long," remarked Gordon, indicating with a wave of his hand that they should make themselves comfortable. Neal stood to one side with his arms resting on an ornate table embellished with gold filigree, while Mozzie sank into one of the large sofas and began eyeing the complimentary bottle of Krug champagne beside him. Only a few minutes later, his attention was diverted by the arrival of a woman, who was so striking that he almost missed the man who was a step behind her. She surveyed the room with imperious eyes, which stopped to asses him with an expression of what he thought was approval on her fair, young face. She directed a shy smile at him, which made him immediately suspicious. She was tall even without the six inch heels she was sporting. She was dressed fashionably and ever so slightly provocatively. Her features clearly indicated her European descent.

Gordon made the introductions, from which Mozzie learnt that her name, or alias for now, was Anastasia and the other newcomer's was Samuel, a Britisher with Jamaican parentage. Taylor referred to Neal and himself them by their aliases, at which she raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Mozzie had never heard of anybody that fitted her description, but that could mean she was one of the best. He kept one watchful eye on her and the rest of his focus was on Taylor. He activated a signal jammer before he could discuss business.

"Our target is van Gogh's _The Church at Auvers,_ which currently hangs in the Musée d'Orsay. The plan is to get in after hours, disable the security system and switch the painting for a fake. The heist will go down on Friday. Victor, I trust that much time is sufficient to create a convincing forgery?" questioned Taylor. Neal nodded. "Ana, you've done this in the Louvre recently, so you and I will enter the building and perform the switch. Sam and Bob, you have to disable the alarm system and take care of the security for us. Clear?" Everyone muttered their consent in turns. "We will meet again tomorrow, same time and same place. I need the painting done by Thursday, so Victor's presence here will not be required. Bob and Sam will case the museum and figure out its weaknesses, while Anastasia and I come up with possible entry points. You will not be communicating with each other outside of here. If none of you have any concerns, this meeting is over," he wrapped up.

Mozzie was enraptured by Taylor's meticulous planning. He usually put together his crew after an audition of sorts. Since he'd worked with them before, Mozzie wondered if his words implied that the Louvre break-in a few days ago was how the woman had got on Taylor's radar. He wondered if she was also on anyone else's, but he quickly put that out of his mind. A big score such as this promised a fat paycheck, even when divided amongst five and the fact that Taylor would get the lion's share. He felt slightly uneasy when he reminisced about the last time he'd done this and everything that he'd gleaned from Sara. This time the outcome will be different, he told himself as excitement rose to a fever pitch within him.


	15. Thirteen

Sara was halfway through her croissant when the woman she was following emerged from one of the private entrances to Le Meurice. She got into a black sedan that whisked her away from there. Sara wiped the crumbs from her fingers and waited a moment before she could pursue in her own vehicle. As she was driving past, she cast a glance at the entrance. She slammed the brakes in incredulity at the sight of Mozzie coming the same way with Neal beside him, both of them engaged in deep conversation. Recovering, she spotted the suspect's car at the periphery of her vision and eased her foot on the accelerator. It was an involuntary response and she was a little surprised that she had run from that situation. She'd dreamed about seeing him so many times that she'd even rehearsed the things she'd say if she actually did, but all of that had gone out of her mind when she had heard about his passing. But everything had changed drastically now and she pondered over whether she still had the courage to tell him all the things she had planned to. Without conscious effort, she thrust her Volkswagen into a lower gear. She could see the car she was tailing just making the green light and knew she should follow, but something held her back. She reasoned that Anastasia and the Louvre mystery could wait; perhaps she'd get more out of a conversation with Mozzie than following her around. Her mind was still ambivalent about a chat with Neal, but she definitely wanted to see more of him. She made her way back to the hotel and she could see the duo on the sidewalk not far off. It dawned on her that the place she'd met Moz earlier was quite a distance from here to travel on foot, so they'd probably take the metro. She ditched her vehicle and got off to track them on foot. As her mind went back in time and brought up images of her relationship with him, the bright morning light and the world it lit faded away, colouring the scenes in her head a washed out sepia that belonged to the past.

She returned to reality when the doors of the metro car she had got into closed behind her. If not for the signs in French, she would have felt just like riding the subway back in New York. Neal was only a few paces ahead and she was sure that if she reached out with her hand, she could grab the hem of his black leather jacket. The train halted at the Palais Royal station and someone brushed past her roughly in a hurry to get to the doors. She faultered and lost her balance, slamming into the person in front of her. All eyes were on her and some even huddled in closer to take a look at her, mostly out of concern, as she tried to pick herself up. A friendly arm was offered and she took it without second thought. As she dusted herself and straightened up, she realised she was gazing into the electric blue eyes of her former lover.


	16. Fourteen

Neal had been through many difficult situations in his years as a con artist, but he was always able to get out of them by a combination of charm, intelligence and sheer luck. Yet none of them had prepared him for this - her hazel eyes bore into his, trying to find answers where he could offer none. They were still only for a moment but in his mind it stretched to an eternity. The words that usually were on the tip of his tongue had evaporated and left an awkward aftertaste. He could hear someone clear their throat and the crowd move away as they began to lose interest. Only one other pair of eyes were trained on him - Mozzie's.

"I was hoping I'd run into you," Sara confessed.

"Interesting to know you're still keeping tabs on me," he replied, finally finding his voice.

"Peter was always your number one fan. You should get together sometime," she teased. A familiar smile spread across her face, a sight that made Neal's heart skip a beat.

"I didn't think you'd want to talk to me after listening to the whole story." His words were a whisper. He had openly acknowledged his worst fear that nobody from his former life would ever want to see him if they found out he was still alive.

She turned away with what he thought was a hint of a blush. Mozzie decided to interrupt just then.

"I couldn't be happier for you two." He paused to direct a pointed look at Sara. "But we have to get off at the next station."

Neal felt a sudden urgency well up inside him. Her unresponsiveness had unsettled him. He wondered if he'd ever see her again. He was about to ask her the same when she held out a business card.

"You know what to do," she murmured in his ear as he reached out for it and their hands met.

The squealing of brakes interrupted their moment. He gazed back wistfully at her, his hands clasped firmly around the piece of paper.

"I know what you're thinking." Mozzie's voice brought him back from his reverie. Neal was surprised to find himself in the living room of their apartment.

"You can't possibly know," he challenged.

"Neal, she's different from us. You do remember that this is the same Sara who broke up with you over the treasure. It's always been a dream for you two. Besides, she's with someone else now," Moz let slip.

"How do you know that?" His mind shied away from the possibility adamantly. She wouldn't have given him her number if that was the case.

"I met her once before. Here."

Mozzie had hardly got those words out of his mouth before he was interrupted by Neal. "And you didn't think it was important enough to tell me? _She_ was the one who told you about Peter?"

Mozzie could only look up at him and nod apologetically.

For the second time that day, Neal fell short of words. He felt sure there was nothing that could make his predicament worse than it was now, but he had no inkling of how wrong he was.


	17. Fifteen

As the plane touched down on Parisian soil, Peter could only think about how much he missed his family. He could picture El's face, a mixture of anger and sadness on it when he had left for the airport. He could recollect vividly the time that Keller had taken him and how helpless he had felt then. He had taken precautions this time - her parents would be staying with her and two agents would be keeping an eye on the house at all times, an arrangement unknown to his wife. He stepped off the aircraft with a slight concern for his family in his heart, but he would soon find out that the feeling was misplaced.

He collected his baggage and proceeded to the exit, where a woman holding up his name on a placard caught his eye. She smiled at him as he turned and walked towards her. His image of Interpol went up significantly in his mind; the FBI never arranged pickups from airports, what with all the cost cutting measures in place. She greeted him pleasantly in accented English and directed him to the car. He began to relax as the skyscrapers of the city dominated his view and his earlier misgivings were forgotten. He rolled down the windows to take in the sights of Paris for the first time.

The car halted abruptly at one of the side street, jarring him back to the present. The windows closed up slowly and he could hear the click of the door locks snapping into position as the ignition turned off. He looked at the woman in the front seat in puzzlement.

"Why did we stop?"

She turned back to face him. "We both know why you're really in France, Agent Burke. I simply cannot allow you to do that," she replied, flashing a badge at him.

"I'm here to attend a conference by Interpol. Why would one of you want to stop me?" The entire idea seemed ridiculous in his mind. He wondered if this was the Europeans' idea of toying with their American counterparts.

"You may have convinced your wife like that, but we know that your former CI is still alive and in the city. Interpol can put two and two together." She gave him a mocking smile.

"Neal? I don't know what you're talking about." The lies came easily from his mouth but his heart was racing. He had very little information at his disposal that he could offer her or withhold to bargain for his freedom. He cursed Neal for whatever he had done to get on Interpol's bad side again.

"Cut the crap, Burke. Your own Bureau suspects you had something to do with the missing money on the Pink Panther heist. They also believe you have turned a blind eye to Caffrey's activities when he was with you. The last time OPR came anywhere near you resulted in a civilian's death. Rather than investigate you themselves, they outsourced it to us. At first we were sure it was just another open and shut case that we had been stuck with, but now I'm beginning to think that this will make my career." Her eyes shone with the ambition of an underappreciated employee.

Peter remained silent as he pondered over her words. Was the invitation to D.C. after the Panthers' case a promotion or just a farce to keep an eye on him? He was surprised by her knowledge of the details of his cases. The FBI must have been really desperate to have handed over classified files to them. He decided that his best play at the moment would be to deny his involvement until he was confronted with proof.

"I don't have anything that will be of use to you. Neal was dead the last time I saw him and I don't think that any con man, no matter how gifted, has been able to cheat the Fates yet." He pursed his lips, indicating that she was going to get nothing further out of him. The smile that spread across her face now was that of a predator that had cornered its prey. He felt just as trapped and his animosity towards Neal rose. If he got out of this situation unscathed, he would surely hunt Caffrey down himself.


	18. Sixteen

The summer sun was pleasant on Neal's back as he crossed the busy street. He wasn't accustomed to feeling nervous on occasions like these and his normally confident gait was very slightly off. He straightened his silk tie and brushed off imaginary lint from his tailored suit. He took a deep breath and walked the last few paces to where Sara stood, looking in the opposite direction. She had her customary bag in hand, which matched her pearl white dress. The sunlight struck her hair and made it shimmer like gold. She turned as she heard his approaching footsteps.

"I'm glad you called."

His answering smile was dazzling. He offered an arm which she seemed happy to take; her internal cringe didn't show on her face.

The Tuileries Gardens was magnificent at this time of the year. They ambled along the paths, mostly in silence, soaking up each other's presence and the natural beauty that surrounded them. Both were reluctant to speak up, searching for the perfect words that never came to any of their minds. They ended up in a nearby cafe as the sun set and streaked the sky with varied hues of red and yellow. Under the fading twilight, sitting across each other, they were forced to make conversation.

She wondered how long it would take for them to get comfortable enough for her to ask what weighed on her mind the most. The opening came much before she expected and caught her unawares.

"What brings you to Paris? Last I checked, you worked in London," he prompted.

She shifted slightly in her seat before she decided to go with the truth. "I was actually here on vacation, but I had to stay back for a case."

"Well, I hope I'm not on your list of suspects. I'd hate to relive the Raphael episode all over again."

She laughed. "No, I have narrowed it down to the culprit. But I have no proof yet. There is surprisingly little I could dig up about her."

"Her?"

She could see that he was trying to keep his voice casual, but the curiosity in his voice was poorly disguised. "Maybe you could help." She took out a picture from her bag and slid it across the table to him.

His eyes widened in alarm infinitesimally, which would have gone unnoticed had she not been so familiar with his expressions.

"I'm sorry, I've never seen her before or heard of her. Must be new." He handed the picture back to her. His hand shook almost imperceptibly.

"Are you sure? Maybe if you had more details…" She trailed off, not trying to be overly forward. She felt a surge of anger at how easily he just lied to her.

He flared up in response. "Is this why you lured me here? For an interrogation?"

"Lured? You called me yourself!" she shot back.

"I merely came to see what you wanted from me. Mozzie told me about that college professor of yours." His tone was accusatory.

"I can't believe you would bring that up now." She made sure she sounded disapproving.

"Why not? You ruined the evening for me already."

"What did you expect?" Her voice went up an octave. "Did you want me to put my life on hold for an officially dead man? What did you think would happen after the way we left things? I was hoping we could catch up and have an honest conversation after all that we've been through. I was clearly wrong. I should've known that you will always be a liar and a thief." As soon as she had uttered the words, she sensed that she had gone too far. His face was wiped blank as he stood up abruptly and walked away, leaving her as a mess of guilt and wrath.


	19. Seventeen

To the man waiting for Sara at the busy metro station, it seemed out of character for her to arrive late and looking so flustered. He said nothing - he knew what his job entailed and asking her about her emotional state wasn't part of it. Over the years, he had done many things for her, but their relationship was strictly official. He swallowed his concerns and looked straight ahead as she stood next to him casually, pretending to check her watch.

"Kyle, did you get anything? I'm in a hurry, so just give me a run through quickly."

He handed her the parcel that he had been holding so carefully that it had become slightly moist with perspiration. "She's really careful, but I did manage to get some shots of her - the real her. She uses a disguise when she steps out. She has at least two other people working for her. They came in today and they hadn't left when I was there last, which was maybe half an hour ago. There is one more man in the apartment, and by the looks of it, it seemed like a hostage situation. I couldn't really tell because he didn't look terrified, just confused. I could get only one clear picture of him. Hopefully, this will be enough to get you some more leads. Any instructions for me?"

She took it all in like it was no big deal. "I'll go through these and let you know," she said, patting the envelope. "Thank you for your help." She smiled, but he could see the effort behind it.

He nodded. He knew this was his cue to leave, yet he hesitated. His years of experience in the field had taught him quite a lot of things and trusting his instincts at all times was one of them.

"Sara, take care," he whispered fervently, wishing she'd hear the warning in his casual words.

She laughed, seemingly overconfident, but there was something off about it. "Don't worry, Kyle. Nothing I haven't handled before."

"You're used to dealing with thieves, not kidnappers," he pointed out, miffed by her callous attitude.

She glared at him. "I know what I'm doing. I've had a rather long and tiring day and I don't want to make it any worse by getting a lecture on how to do my job."

He mumbled an apology, but stayed put.

Sara gave an exasperated sigh. "Just spit it out."

"I know this sounds highly unrealistic, but have you considered the possibility that she might be on our side?"

" _Our side_?"

"Yeah, like a confidential informant or something along those lines. Maybe the Louvre heist was part of her cover and that's why none of the agencies want to look into it. It explains a lot of her behaviour and why we can't get anything on her." He stopped to gauge her reaction. She wasn't even paying attention, he observed.

"Sara?" he prodded.

Her eyes focused on him again. "I'll keep that in mind. I may have some more work for you the rest of the week. When are you going back to London?"

"This weekend. You know how to get in touch. I'll see you around, Sara." She waved in dismissal, which only served to increase his anxiety. He knew that she was underestimating the gravity of the situation and hoped that what he had given her would make her more cautious.

Sara wanted something desperately to take her mind off Neal. She took a quick scan of her surroundings before she tore open the envelope and gave its contents a cursory glance. She felt the world around her slow down and heard the irregular rhythm of her heart ring in her ears as a jolt of shock rocked her body. She recognised one of the faces in the pictures, the probable hostage that Kyle had mentioned - Peter Burke.


	20. Eighteen

The soft knock on the door made Neal and Mozzie freeze mid-work and exchange looks. The table was strewn with brushes and paints. The easel that stood next to it was an incomplete replica of the van Gogh masterpiece. Neal took it out gently and disappeared to the back while Mozzie prepared himself to open the door. He hated the fact that it had no peephole. Being unaware of what was coming was not a comfortable situation for a con artist to be in.

He opened the door to see a flustered looking Sara, her hand raised to knock another time. Mozzie gave her a cold look. He knew all about last evening's disaster.

"Not now, Mozzie," she responded to that. "Where is Neal? It's good that you're here too. I desperately need your help."

He casually leaned against the door frame, denying her entry. "With what?"

She reached up and whispered in his ear, "It's about Peter. Can I come in now?"

Mozzie decided that he should at least let her explain herself and the hallway was no place to do it, so he beckoned her in, shutting the door carefully behind her. He offered her a seat by the sofa and made himself comfortable on one of the chairs by the table. Her eyes wandered to the items on it and she raised an eyebrow. She was about to say something when Neal came into the room. She went quiet and her eyes were downcast, forcing Mozzie to act as an intermediary. He accepted the role with little pleasure.

When he had finished, Neal spoke up. "If it's just another way to get information from us, I think you should leave now."

"I won't deny that they're connected, but I suspect Peter is in danger. I have tried everything I can, but there is very little that I could find. I don't know who else to turn to. Neal, I know he means a lot to you, and he's saved you many times over too, Mozzie. It was different last night, when I asked you about it. Now it's a friend's life on the line. Will you not help?" she pleaded.

Mozzie gave Neal a pointed look. The heist would be happening in two days' time. They didn't have much time left to perfect their forgery. A distraction like this would set them back quite a bit. But they couldn't refuse help because then Sara would demand an explanation as to why, which they were incapable of offering. It was Neal who made up his mind first.

"We will help, but you must promise not to tell Peter of our involvement. Agreed?" He extended his hand in a business-like way. She shook it.

An hour later, all three of them were poring over Mozzie's laptop, trying to find who the mystery woman in the picture was. Mozzie knew he was right to keep an eye on her the first time he had seen her. He wondered if Taylor knew about her side activities or the fact that she concealed her identity with a disguise. Most of them in the team were probably using aliases just like they were and Gordon wouldn't care if one of them went the extra mile to be careful, he decided. His thoughts were interrupted when his search threw up a result. His breath caught in his chest as he expanded on it and the full profile came into view.

"It can't be." Neal's voice was barely a whisper. "It makes no sense."

Sara seemed too stunned for words. Her surveillance guy had guessed correctly. They had finally matched the real photo of her suspect he had provided to a Isabella Jenkins, Interpol agent.

Mozzie was the only one who recovered quickly. He wasted no time in saving the details and getting out before the agency could detect a hacking. He shut down his laptop and tossed it aside. He stepped away and headed towards the kitchen, where he pushed some things around before calling out to Neal for assistance.

"We have to tell Gordon. We have to call it off. It's too risky," he reeled off as soon as Neal was within earshot.

A slow smile was spreading across Neal's face, which Mozzie knew only too well. "We could still get away with it. She doesn't know that we know the truth about her. We owe Sara big time. We just need to figure out a foolproof escape plan and find some scapegoats to take the fall for this. That way, everybody gets what they want, and this time we're not leaving any trail behind for anyone from this life to find us again." There was a twinkle in his eye as he spoke. Mozzie found his proposal hard to argue with and acquiesced, feeling the same excitement run through his body as they headed back to the living room to join Sara. The game was truly afoot now.


	21. Nineteen

Breaking and entering was Mozzie's least favourite way of gaining access to a building. The open window behind him brought in a lazy summer breeze, and the place really needed a breath of fresh air, in his opinion. Unoccupied for quite a few months, a layer of dust had settled on everything inside the apartment. He tied a handkerchief over his face to prevent an allergic reaction. He fished out a contraption from his bag, which mimicked the sound of a small explosion, but it was self-contained and wouldn't set anything else on fire. Arson wasn't really something he was keen to dabble with.

He placed it slightly away from the door, close enough for someone in the corridor to hear the noise clearly. He inspected the device one more time to check if everything was intact and abandoned it on the floor, leaving the room as he had come. He began to whistle a tune and slipped his hands casually into his pockets, palming the detonator in his right hand. He leaned against a lamppost and kept checking his watch every now and then to give the notion that he was waiting for someone. He had earphones on and bobbed his head to a non-existent rhythm. In reality, he was listening to Neal's voice as he carried out the next phase of the operation, waiting for his cue from Neal.

Neal hated having to dress in cheap clothes, but his part required it. As the manager of the building grasped his hand, he resisted the urge to tug at the coarse material, unfamiliar against his skin. He faked a smile and responded in broken French.

"Look at the apartment?" the man asked, resorting to English as he noticed Neal's American accent.

Neal acquiesced with unfelt enthusiasm. The man kept up a string of commentary as he led the way, highlighting the main selling points of the place.

He stopped by the door and hesitated a little. "Not clean," he muttered, leaning in closer so he would be audible. "No use in long time. Sorry."

"That is to be expected. Scratches on the door. Looks like I need…" The rest of his words were never heard.

The sound of an explosion ripped through the quiet neighbourhood. They instinctively threw themselves away from the door, collapsing in the hallway. The impact left both of them reeling, even though Neal knew this was going to happen.

Doors were opened hastily and the residents poured out, all of them displaying varying degrees of shock and curiosity in their faces. Rumours began to fly as they spotted the manager and a stranger crouched on the ground. A few stepped up to help and few more inched closer to the door. People from other floors came hurrying down just then, adding to the confusion. Shouts echoed through the passage. Someone called the police and fire department. Another tried to bring order to the chaos, asking them all to evacuate the building and leave the investigation to the authorities. The acrid smell of fire consuming plastic hastened the process and it took several level-headed people to prevent a stampede.

Neal anxiously scanned the crowd that was spilling out of the building, trying to find the agents that held Peter among them. He had studied the photos Sara had passed around carefully, but they were shot from a distance and not very detailed. He pushed through a knot of people in his hurry, curses following him. He almost turned back to apologise when he saw one of the men hurry out, his face contorted with worry. Neal inched closer, shadowing him, hoping he'd got the right man. His target seemed to be waiting at the entrance, presumably for his companion.

Neal's mind raced. Their plan was by no means foolproof. They didn't control all the variables and didn't know how the men would react when they would be forced out of hiding. Although he'd never admit it openly, Neal was extremely worried about Peter. He was never much of a believer, but he prayed for his friend's safety. But it seemed like fate was playing a cruel joke when he looked at the next set of people coming out of the building's exit. The other Interpol agent hobbled into view, supporting the limp body of Peter Burke.


End file.
